


Choose Your Battles

by Rose_of_Pollux



Series: Inktober for Writers 2018: Hurt/Comfort edition [29]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:25:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16454198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: Number of people Napoleon took on in that bar brawl?  Four.  Regrets?  None.





	Choose Your Battles

It was times like these that Napoleon was grateful that his partner had medical expertise—even if it was pathology. But, then again, Illya had argued that the body was the same build for the living and the dead—the living just complained more.

And Napoleon did complain—though with his face being a mask of purple bruises and numerous cuts and scratches all over the rest of him, he had a right to. And, if anything, hearing him complain was a much-needed to Illya that he was not hurt any worse.

“What are you trying to do—mummify me?” Napoleon protested, as Illya now wrapped almost all of his left arm in bandages as they rested in their hotel room. It was fortunate that they were in a big city like Savannah, Georgia—it allowed Illya to obtain the medical equipment he needed with relative ease.

“I know the extensiveness of your vanity,” Illya said, simply. “So I am ensuring that the scarring is as minimal as possible.”

“Well, I appreciate that,” Napoleon said. “But I’m a bit more concerned about my face than my arms. How does my face look?”

“…You will heal, but for now, you look like you were in a brawl with four other men built like brick walls—which you were,” Illya chided. “Really, Napoleon—a bar brawl? Somehow, I always thought you were too classy for that.”

Napoleon shrugged.

“But I won, didn’t I?” he pointed out, with a smirk of triumph. “You should’ve seen them bolting out of the bar!”

“That well may be, but you should have called me for assistance sooner rather than waiting until you were at the doctor’s office,” Illya added. “I could have helped to prevent some of these injuries!”

“But you were off on a mission to obtain a basket of shrimp; I couldn’t interrupt you from your noble quest!”

“For you, Napoleon, I will always cast aside mealtime,” Illya promised.

“Now _that’s_ true loyalty…”

“And you are lucky you weren’t in worse shape when I found you,” Illya said. “I am still trying to grasp how this happened. What were you even fighting about, anyway?”

Napoleon’s expression darkened.

“Let’s just say that THRUSH aren’t the only ones who consider certain people as undesirables,” he said. “In a case like this, my response was the same--I did what I had to in order to protect innocents.”

Now Illya’s expression darkened, as well.

“You really _should_ have called me,” he said. “This is not something I would have stood for either, and you know it.”

“Didn’t want to risk them getting on you because of your accent,” Napoleon mumbled.

“Oh, Napoleon…” Illya sighed, finishing his treatment of Napoleon’s wounds. “Well, what happened to the innocents?”

Napoleon gave a rueful smile.

“I guess I must have looked pretty beaten-up, because they wanted to get me to the doctor’s, which was where you found me—they never really got to sit down and leisurely enjoy their drinks after all,” he sighed. “Still… it’s a small consolation that, at least, they left of their own accord rather than being intimidated into leaving.”

“I can agree with that,” Illya said.

Napoleon sighed and glanced up, staring at the ceiling, and Illya soon did the same.

“We keep going?” Illya asked.

“We keep going,” Napoleon agreed.

There was nothing else to do but that.


End file.
